In Common Hours
by anne-terne
Summary: Scully thought their misadventures had ended there, but six weeks later it turned out she was wrong. MSR, Alternate Timeline. UPDATED Friday 2 22 08
1. Chapter 1

Title: In Common Hours

Timeline: Alternate Events (Timeline)? Takes place in an imaginary time in an early season, soon after Scully's return, pre-cancer.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

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I think it happened in Ohio.

Or maybe Kentucky. That's was the last stop on the case, the place where we ended up breaking the bed. Tangled naked together, trying to stifle our hysterical laughter at the thought of what exactly we'd have to put on the expense report when it came time to pay the motel for damages. The thought of Skinner's face when it came time to sign off on the charges and that was enough for Mulder who ended up selling his never-used golf clubs on eBay instead of putting us through that.

I thought our misadventures had ended there, but six weeks later it turned out I was wrong.

Two lines on the test. Bright pink, side by side, no mistake about it except that my mind refused to wrap itself around the impossible and insisting it was wrong, I took another which also came up positive. As did the five other brands I ended up purchasing from the drug store - blue boxes, red check marks, even a little digital readout that said one word: YES.

Yes. Miracles do happen, Doctor Scully. This isn't to say I was ready for it, I wasn't even sure how it could have happened. Mulder and I had been edging toward intimacy for three long years, a slow, steady drumbeat of two hearts that were joined in every way but one and when the inevitable came there was less a concern about babies than about our work, our true life.

Besides, I wasn't supposed to be able to have babies. _They_ were supposed to have made very sure of that.

"Looks like they missed one," I muttered to myself, fanning out the multiple pregnancy tests in both hands. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, I settled on laughing until I cried, which was good enough.

The enormity of the situation didn't hit until a few hours later, lying in my bed (on my side, as lying on your back while pregnant isn't supposed to be good for a baby, except at the stage I was at then, our child wasn't more than a few cells big) and Mulder called, sounding infuriatingly normal.

"I think I've discovered the identity of that guy in Modina, Scully."

So hopelessly obtuse. "The guy in Modina?"

"You know, the one who ran off with the last set of files the Gunmen dug up for us?"

Files. Gunmen. A man in Modina and for the first time, I couldn't care less about whatever he was blathering about. Not that it was Mulder's fault - how could he be expected to be acting in any way but as he usually did, but I, like most other newly pregnant women before me was hormonally challenged and therefore not in the most rational state of mind.

So I sighed, told him I wasn't feeling up to discussing it right now and hung up.

I don't think I ever did that before. It took him at least twenty minutes to recover from the shock and call me back. "Are you okay, Scully? Is someone there?" he whispered in the phone, as if only a gun to my head could have possibly inspired me to brush him off. "Should I come over?"

I thought about it for a moment. Telling him over the phone wasn't an option, keeping it from him would be ... difficult. "Yes, I think you should come by. Can you be here in thirty minutes?"

The phone went dead a half second later, no doubt with Mulder racing over to rescue me. He was already at the door before I finished brushing my teeth and I greeted him at the door, toothbrush still in hand. "Sorry, let me rinse."

He looked around my apartment, confused. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," I said, wiping my lips on a towel. I glanced at him, still standing in my foyer, his jacket askew from being yanked on, his hair mussed, framing a face that was both knowing and innocent, a suspicious demeanor that held nothing but trust for me in his eyes and my heart sank a little.

This wouldn't be easy for him. There were only certain kinds of unexpected Mulder was good at dealing with. This wasn't going to be one of them.

I took his hand and lead him to the couch. Sat him down and tried to smile but tears kept getting the way. The words were impossible to say so I did the next best thing -- handed him the clearest of the pregnancy tests and waited.

And waited. Waited some more and watched as his eyes widened hugely, then shut, then peeked open again to reexamine the little plastic stick in his hand. "How?" he finally asked, with a curiousity so honest, I couldn't be offended.

"I have no idea," I said thickly, gulping past a lump in my throat the size of a baseball. "I guess their sterilization techniques weren't perfected yet. Or, the human body is a greater mystery than we can imagine."

Mulder fell back against the sofa, the test still clutched in his hand. "Wow." Slackjawed, he stared at the wall. "I have no idea what to say, Scully. How ... " He hesitated, his cheeks paling. "How do you feel about this?"

The words choked me. "I don't know. It's such a huge thing."

He silently agreed. We sat for a long time like that, on the couch, apart, not touching, him staring off in the distance, me at the seam of his jeans. The seconds ticked by, feeling like hours before he finally snuck out his hand to grasp mine, squeezing it weakly. "It'll be all right, Scully," he said, but somehow, he didn't sound convinced. "We'll figure this out."

"There's not much to figure out," I snapped, instantly regretting my shortness of tone when he quickly pulled his hand away. God, this was not going to be easy. "Sorry, Mulder. I'm just ... I'm just tired. This has been quite a shock to the system. If it's okay with you, I think I'm going to bed."

"I understand." He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Do you want me to stay?"

I did want him to stay but for some reason, I wasn't sure if that's what he really wanted. There was a restlessness to him, a tightness to his shoulders and jaw, an unspoken agitation.

It would be better to let him go, I thought sadly, even though I ached to be held. To be hugged tightly and told everything was not only all right, it was wonderful, that this new life growing inside of me was a joyful thing, a moment to celebrate, not to regret.

But I wasn't sure that's how Mulder felt. I wasn't even sure how I felt but a tense, sleepless night wouldn't help either one of us. "I think I'd be better off alone tonight," I said, gamely trying to smile. "How about tomorrow?"

Not surprisingly, he looked relieved. "Okay." He leaned over to kiss me, our lips meeting briefly before I pulled away. "Tomorrow."

That tomorrow was a long time in coming, a sleepless night following anyway after Mulder left. I tossed and turned for hours until finally giving up a short while before the dawn.

Doodled on the computer aimlessly for a bit until opening my notes program, thinking to get some work done, which was a joke. The words that followed had nothing to do with work and everything to do with the new turn mine and Mulder's life had taken, an unexpected detour into the unknown.

_Dear Little One,_

_Today is the day we discovered you, never to be the same again. May time give us all the strength we need to see this through. _

_Love,_

_Mama_

Saving the file, I closed the program. Outside, in the distance, the sun was rising and I said one more prayer for us, once two, now three.

A prayer of hope, as well as a prayer of survival.

We would need it.

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to be continued in Chapter Two ...

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	2. Chapter 2

Title: In Common Hours

Timeline: Alternate Events (Timeline)? Takes place in an imaginary time in an early season, soon after Scully's return, pre-cancer.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

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The next morning was a dreary one, a Washington special, all dank skies and pouring sheets of rain. I ended up oversleeping for the first time in years and was forced to make a mash dash through my routine, stumbling into yesterday's suit, not bothering to shower.

Not that it mattered. I was soaked in spite of my trench and umbrella, looking like something the cat thought about dragging in but decided to leave outside instead. My co-workers looked at me with surprise, used to seeing me impeccably put together, surprised at my wrinkled, stringy-haired appearance.

The rest of the morning was no better. Mulder was late as well and the phones were already ringing off the hook. I spent the first hour fielding annoyed calls from Accounting, not to mention Records, which had somehow lost my last four reports and needed them _now_.

Wonderful. And I thought this would be a glamorous career.

Somehow I pulled things together enough to appease my torturers and make a pot a coffee besides. But just as I was about to pour myself a cup, the bitter smell of freshly brewed coffee assailed my suddenly sensitive nose and a stream of bile rose in my throat, making me gag.

Flying to the bathroom, I made it to the toilet just in time, dry heaving into the bowl, tears filling my eyes. Twenty trembling minutes later, I finally emerged, my knees shaking so badly I had to hold onto the wall to make it back to the office.

It still smelled like coffee. Turning off the pot, I spent the next ten minutes rummaging for packs of crackers in my desk, finding two of them, leftovers of lunches past. I chewed each dry cracker slowly, trying to catch my breath and slowly, my stomach settled.

That's when the reality of what I'd be facing for the next nine months hit me like a freight train.

It took all the strength I had not to bury my head in my hands and sob. Just then the phone rang and I picked up, almost gratefully, hoping it was a well-timed distraction from Accounting.

It was Mulder. "Scully, it's me."

He was on his cell and the background noises sounded fuzzy ... faraway. I composed myself with a sniffle. "Where are you?"

"Modina. I need you to look up something for me."

I only had a vague idea of where Modina was. I had no idea who lived there or what kind of place it was but I knew for certain that I hated this place with most, if not all, of my heart. "You didn't mention you were heading there," I said, as mildly as I could manage. My stomach was turning skittish again and the last thing I needed was to gack all over the phone.

"The trail got hot last night. He's come back home for some reason and I think I know why. But I need you to run a license plate."

Wonderful to be needed, I thought, gritting my teeth as I did what he requested. "Do you need me to come down there?" I asked.

"No, no," he replied quickly. "You stay there. I'll ... I'll be back as soon as I can."

As soon as he can. Knowing Mulder as well as I did that could have meant anything from six hours to six weeks but with my stomach and mind roiling, I was in no mood to argue, even as I felt pinpoints of resentment prickling hotly over my skin. "Try to stay safe, Mulder," I said finally. "If you need me, call."

There, diplomatic enough. He breathed what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief over the other end of the receiver. "I will. You stay safe too." He paused. "I love you, Scully."

I couldn't help but smile, just a little, at the sound of those words, still so sweet to hear. "Ditto," I replied softly.

I held onto the phone for a few minutes after the click of his hang up, staring into space. It was hard to stay angry at Mulder for too long, the feelings of love ... of understanding who he was were usually too strong.

Usually. Putting the phone back in its cradle, I realized that I was hungry. No, make that _starving_. Suddenly nothing sounded better than a big cup of hot chocolate covered with whipped cream, sitting next to a large piece of cheesecake, also drowning in whipped cream and strawberries.

No, chocolate sauce. Strawberries sounded too healthy at that moment and I didn't hesitate to pick up my trench coat and umbrella to head outside for an unauthorized breakfast break. The phones started ringing again, but cake was calling my name and those idiots could wait.

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I survived the rest of the day without incident, as well as no further contact from Mulder. I debated calling him to check up on him but decided against it; when trouble was brewing the calls would come soon enough, fast and thick. There was no point in distracting him with pointless intrusions, as tempting as that was.

Once home, I thumbed through the phone book, looking for a suitable obstetrician. Seeing a name I recognized as well-known and nearby, I called, my heart pounding in my throat. It was strange how emotional it was to tell someone else about my pregnancy, even a bored receptionist who'd heard that same confession at least a dozen times a day.

"How many weeks are you?" she asked blandly.

I counted off weekends in my head, adding the two for my missed cycle. "Eight."

"We don't see anyone until ten to twelve. Is this your first pregnancy?"

"Yes." My first that was never supposed to be at all, I wanted to shout, but left it at that.

"Come in at ten weeks. We'll check for a heartbeat then."

Even though I was a doctor, it hadn't hit me until that very moment that they would have to check for life, that there might technically be a pregnancy, but no heartbeat -- no little life to call my own.

Fear gripped me like a vise, but I simply agreed on a date and hung up, no further questions asked. That didn't stop me from heading to the computer and hitting Google like a madwoman, downloading statistics and symptoms, ticking off warning signs of missed miscarriage in my head. I debated every twinge I'd felt the past few weeks, the strange stretching sensations, the nausea, the ache in my breasts, trying to decide if they boded good or ill for my baby's life.

It only took an hour of this to exhaust me. _It's in God's hands, Dana_, I firmly told myself, shutting off the computer. It didn't make me feel much better -- nothing would until I saw that heartbeat -- but it was the sane thing to do.

Suddenly, my resentment of Mulder's absence increased tenfold. Fine for him, leaving me alone to worry myself sick about all this and my fingers tapped irritably against the desk, next to the phone. The importance of our work had paled to nearly nothing in comparison to this monumental change taking place inside of me, why couldn't he see that?

Did he really have to ditch me today? Of all days?

With an angry huff, I headed to the kitchen, flinging open the freezer, searching for something sweet and comforting. There were two pints of ice cream to choose from and when one was demolished, the other didn't survive much longer.

The phone rang just as the last soupy spoon was finished. I glanced at the ID, expecting Mulder, but it wasn't him.

It was my mother. "Dana?"

The ice cream, so delicious going down, threatened to make a reappearance. "Oh, hi, Mom," I gulped, wondering if I'd be able to keep such a huge secret from her, at least until Mulder returned. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering what you were doing for dinner tomorrow."

Oh, no. All it would take was one look at my face and the jig would be up. "Wow, Mom, I'd love to but work this week is murder ..."

"Murder?" She sounded worried all of a sudden. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I mean, it's fine. Not literally a murder just a lot of work. How about next week?" I crossed my fingers, praying she'd buy it and that Mulder would come back in time. There was no way I was going to tell her by myself.

There was the slightest suspicion in her voice but she readily agreed. "We can always go out to a restaurant near you if you don't want to trek out here, Dana."

"And give up your home cooking? Never," I joked lamely.

An uneasy silence followed. My mother was like a bloodhound, able to sniff out her children's secrets from miles away. I winced, waiting for the interrogation, but it never came. "All right, honey. But I want to see you next week. Promise?"

"I promise." A bead of sweat rolled down my neck. "Bye, Mom."

"Next week, don't forget."

"Right. Bye." I hung up the phone, holding onto my roiling stomach. Oh why did I eat all that crap? I felt bloated, miserable and weirdly enough, still hungry. Or nauseous. No ... definitely hungry.

With a sigh, I pulled out the Chinese menu, suddenly craving Mulder's favorite dish. Great, trying to gain closeness to a missing lover through greasy slices of pork. How wonderful.

This was going to be a long night.

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to be continued in Chapter Three

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	3. Chapter 3

Title: In Common Hours

Timeline: Alternate Events (Timeline)? Takes place in an imaginary time in an early season, soon after Scully's return, pre-cancer.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

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The disc in my hands weighed two ounces, my heart about a million pounds more. Scully will want to know if it was worth it, worth missing the first precious days of her pregnancy for and I can say unequivocally, without looking, that no, it's not.

But I didn't know what else to do. It's been two days and I was a lousy father already. Burdening her with this inevitable fact so soon, that I'm about as capable of normal fatherhood as my own father was ...

It seemed fairer to make a run for it, to be honest.

I should have thought this one out, should have used protection for her sake but using contraception felt like injury on top of insult after what those bastards did to her. Or sort of did to her. In a way I'm grateful for their incompetence. Scully will make a spectacular mother, brilliant and loving, sensible and kind, she deserved this more than any woman I know. Maybe the timing was awful, and she certainly could have picked a better partner in this lifelong project but I can't say it shouldn't have happened.

The thought of another sparkling little Scully in the world makes me believe that God might not hate the human race so much after all.

Then I remembered that it'll be half Mulder and my faith plummeted again.

It turned out to be a mind-numbingly long day, trying not to bother her with calls that would do little than remind her that I wasn't where I should have been -- by her side. The Gumen bothered me incessantly enough throughout the case, with mysterious appearances at my motel room and phone contacts about as subtle as a megaphone in a shopping mall.

I'm surprised they haven't figured it out yet but they will. They won't be the only ones either.

The thought of the smoking bastard discovering that their little reproductive experimentation on Scully was a failure filled me with a cold, shivering dread. They don't like when their well-laid plans go wrong and have _interesting_ ways of fixing things.

This is where things will get ugly. Because I will kill every single one of them with my bare hands before they hurt Scully this time. Before they hurt the ... our ... baby.

Not one of those motherfuckers will live to try. I might have said this before, about other, less important, things but this time, it's not a threat -- it's a _fact_.

My stomach churned a little at the thought but I shook the tension off with a little help from a impromptu cocktail made of Diet Coke and one of those little bottles of rot-gut vodka from the motel's mini-fridge. It smelled like gasoline and tasted even worse, but it did the trick, allowing me to breathe while the TV blared some nonsense about the local school board meeting.

School boards. PTA meetings. Diapers and bottles and sleepless nights. This was my future, something I knew nothing about and had never cared to discover. I took another swig of the drink, wincing as I swallowed.

I was going to be the worst father ever.

I was already the world's worst partner. To hell with that, I thought, putting down the drink and picking up my phone. "Scully, it's me," I said, hearing her sleepy yawn on the other end. I glanced at my watch. Damn, it was already eleven-thirty?

"Everything all right, Mulder?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Sorry, I wasn't keeping track of the time."

I heard her shifting into a more comfortable position. The thought of her, lying there, so beautiful, soft red hair spread out over the pillows made a sharp thrill of desire snake down my spine. "Did you find it?"

Her voice was so warm, it was distracting. "Find it?"

"The files? Remember? That thing you went looking for?"

"Oh, yeah. I did and no, it wasn't worth it. Just in case you were going to ask."

She was silent for a few seconds. "I try not to question your judgement when it comes to our work, Mulder." She blew out a long breath at my disbelieving chuckle. "Okay, maybe I do a little. Sometimes."

"That's all you do, Scully. And I've become immensely grateful for it."

She laughed, an honest-to-goodness guffaw. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted.

"You only drink when you're nervous. Want to tell me what's bothering you or should I take a wild guess?" she said, suddenly sounding tired.

"Scully ... I ..." God, why did I have so much trouble communicating the most rudimentary things? "It's not what you might be thinking. I'm ... I'm happy. Especially for you. I can't think of anyone who'd be a better mother on this planet or any other."

"But?"

I glanced over at my drink, itching to take another swig, but I didn't. "I'm not as certain of how well I fit into this scenario, that's all. If you haven't noticed by now, I'm kind of a mess. At least as far as normal, every day life is concerned."

"Oh, Mulder." She paused, as if searching for the words. "As much as I appreciate your faith in me, I'm just as lost as you are in this. I have no idea how to be a parent, I wasn't prepared for this either, maybe even less than you might have been, had you been with someone else. And as far as not leading a normal life goes ... we're messes together, aren't we?"

Her understanding made my eyes water, just a little. "We're each other's messes?"

"I'm hoping so. Because I don't think I could be anyone else's."

It was an admission that hit me hard, in all the best ways. My throat was tight when I replied. "Me neither, Scully."

We talked for a while after that, about everything, about nothing too and it was in those comfortable silences that I knew, again, she was the one. I was still afraid, more for her and the baby than myself, but it was a fear tempered with hope ... as well as overwhelming love.

After hanging up, the itch to run back to her was unbearable but I'd been drinking so getting behind the wheel of the car was out of the question. She'd kick my ass if I showed up and that thought sobered me up enough to turn on the T.V and stay put until I fell asleep.

My dreams that night were a disconcerting mix of the delightful and the terrifying -- a loving, happy Scully interspersed with visions of failure, as a father, as well as a partner. The smoking man laughing at me as he walked away with our baby and I awoke in a sweat in the middle of the night, gasping for air.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. The room was cold and I spent the next few hours huddled under the cheap blankets, cursing the motel's lack of a heating system. Childishly thought about calling Scully again, for no other reason than the desire to hear her voice, but somehow I gathered enough maturity to resist.

If there was any time to grow up, now was it.

I watched the sun rise through the blinds. Dragged myself into the shower and threw whatever clothes I'd brought into an overnight bag. Two cups of coffee later I was awake enough to make the trip back home, back to Scully and realized about halfway through the trip that I hadn't even bothered looking at the precious disc I'd come all the way out here for.

Laughing, I turned on the radio and sang along all the way home. All the way back to my life -- to my loves.

Both of them.

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to be continued in Chapter Four

Reviews are an author's air. Thanks for reading. If you're enjoying, let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: In Common Hours

Timeline: Alternate Events (Timeline)? Takes place in an imaginary time in an early season, soon after Scully's return, pre-cancer.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

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A few minutes past eight a.m. and I felt the bed dip as Mulder climbed in beside me, smelling like coffee. His stubble-filled cheek tickled my temple and it was heaven to squirm back into his arms, warm and safe.

"Some of us still have to go to work in the morning," I said when he hit the snooze button on my alarm for the third time.

"We're conferencing," he insisted, kissing the back of my neck. "I'm still your boss, right?"

I snorted with laughter. I wasn't laughing for long as his hands started to do delightful things along my stomach ... my thighs. Maybe being a little late to work wasn't such a crime, I thought hazily as his mouth captured mine. Although this 'boss' thing would need immediate clarification ...

Rolling over, I pinned him underneath with a wicked grin. His eyes went wide as I whispered against his throat,"Sorry, Agent Mulder, but you are most certainly not the boss of me."

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My mother had taken special care with dinner that night, roasting a whole chicken over diced potatoes and carrots, served with a side of fresh green beans, seasoned with butter and herbs. I shifted nervously in my seat at the table. I loved my mother but cooking wasn't one of her favorite activities and being served plates of anything more elaborate than frozen peas and cubed steaks was to be viewed with caution.

Blissfully oblivious, Mulder tucked into his dinner with gusto. "Delicious," he said, smiling through a mouthful of beans.

My mother smiled thinly and sipped at her water. "Dana? Aren't you hungry?"

I was starving, as well as nauseous from nerves, my stomach churning like an ocean whirlpool. I could feel her eyes examining me with that look, the one only a mother could bestow upon a secretive child. Burning silent questions into my brain, deducing things from every nervous gesture, every word unspoken, like a profiler the FBI _wished_ they could hire. Exactly thirty seconds of this made me realize I just couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm pregnant, Mom," I blurted out.

Time stopped. Mulder's happy chewing turned into a labored swallow and he reached for his drink with a cough.

My mother's jaw dropped -- that obviously wasn't what she'd been expecting me to say. "Why ... I ... " She was in shock, searching for the words. "But I thought the doctors said you were sterile."

With a weak chuckle, I shrugged. "They were wrong?"

She was still trying to process the news. "Oh. Well, that's good. But ..." She looked at Mulder who'd turned a very interesting shade of pale. "Was this planned?"

"No," I said, feeling my face turn hot. "I ... I had assumed ..."

To my surprise, my mother's face softened into what appeared to be amusement. "A lot of us have made assumptions like that. It's how you end up with five instead of two." She shook her head. "But you're a doctor, Dana."

"I don't regret it, Mom," I said firmly, meeting her eyes.

She tried to smile, but her worry lines deepened. "So you shouldn't. A new life is a good thing." Mom turned to Mulder. "Tell me, Fox. What do you think about this?"

"I think I'm scared out of my mind," Mulder said with a wheeze. He gulped down another mouthful of water before continuing. "But I'm going to try my best to be there, for both of them."

My mother seemed to like this answer, a lot. "It is scary. But it has its moments," she said, giving me a wry glance. She took my hand and squeezed it before changing the subject. "How about some more gravy? I made it fresh."

"That would be great," I said, pushing the cold food around my plate. I knew this conversation wasn't finished, by a long shot, but if Mom wanted to let it go at this for now, that was fine with me.

The second she left the room, Mulder whirled around to glare at me. "You could have given me a heads up that we were telling her tonight," he said accusingly.

"Did you really think we were going to leave here alive without her finding out?" I sighed. "I can't hide anything from her."

He didn't seem appeased by that. "I thought we were waiting for the doctor's visit before telling anyone."

"She's not anyone. She's my mother," I said helplessly, shutting my mouth as Mom appeared with gravy boat in hand.

The rest of the visit was uncomfortable as I sat in the living room, stuck between Mulder's annoyance and my mother's worried, doubtful expression. Dessert was the only good thing to be had and I ended up eating two pieces of chocolate cake, washing them down with a huge glass of milk that was surprisingly refreshing.

I smacked my lips when it was done, wondering why my mother and Mulder were chuckling at me. "Look," my mother said, handing me her compact mirror, where I saw the clear outline of a milk mustache gracing my upper lip.

Embarrassed, I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. "Better get used to it, Dana," my mother said, cutting me a third slice of cake. "Pregnancy has a way of making us even more ridiculous than usual."

"Great," I muttered, but started eating the cake anyway. I looked at my empty milk glass mournfully. I handed it to my mother, sounding exactly like the child I hadn't been for thirty years or more. "Can I have some more?"

0i0i0i0

I'd never been more grateful for a slow work month, vampires, goat-suckers and liver eaters all taking a vacation at the most opportune time. Exhaustion permeated my entire body, making me sluggish and prone to dozing off at my desk, oblivious to ringing phones and noisy computer crashes I ended up causing by falling asleep with my hand sitting heavily on the mouse.

Mulder was incredibly patient, if twitchy from lack of work, although he knew as well as I did that I was in no shape to be chasing mutants. No one had told me that the first few weeks of pregnancy were little more than an overwhelming desire to sleep punctuated by orgies of eating, with the occasional puke-fest thrown in for bad measure.

Praying it would get better soon was all I could do.

Mom had sent me an email earlier in the day, telling me she was going to have a family dinner in a few weeks and would I mind if she invited Father Morgan, the new head of her parish, to meet myself and Mulder? I groaned as I wrote back a cheerful 'sure!' in reply, even while crying on the inside.

Her iron Irish-Catholic will was going to assert itself by any means necessary, making sure to cover all the bases as soon as possible -- marriage, baptism, schooling; maybe even a forced conversion of poor Mulder while she was at it.

It hit me at that point that I wasn't quite sure what religion Mulder was, technically, even though I knew he didn't practice anything. I wasn't sure how he felt about the baby's faith, it was just one of those thousand things we hadn't discussed yet.

Not to mention we hadn't seen the doctor yet. My throat tightened at the thought of not finding a heartbeat, of suffering through all this stress and physical misery for nothing. My sketchy reproductive history wasn't comforting, nor was my maternal age which bordered on the high side of safe as far as successful pregnancies went.

I tried not to dwell on the negative but the odds weren't exactly in my favor. I worried about Mulder as well; he was strong but I was his weak spot as much as his strength and I'd hate to have this turn into a source of grief rather than joy.

Fortunately, he didn't seem nearly as worried as I was. He amused himself by buying me snacks and poking fun at me as I mindlessly devoured them. I got my unintentional revenge by bursting into tears in the middle of a Cheez Doodle rampage, a product of hormonal imbalance that scared him into a profound silence, allowing me to lick my orange fingertips in peace.

Two more days until the doctor, I noted on my mental calendar.

Two more weeks until facing the music with my entire family, then, probably, with Mulder's.

Thirty more weeks until, hopefully, life would be back to normal, if normal was actually a word I'd ever be able to use again.

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to be continued in Chapter Five

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Your words are very inspiring. Please continue to let me know if you are enjoying this.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: In Common Hours 

Timeline: Alternate Events (Timeline)? Takes place in an imaginary time in an early season, soon after Scully's return, pre-cancer.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

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There's no hell like a doctor's waiting room.

I don't think it hit me, what an awful wait this had been for Scully, until we arrived at her obstetrician's office and took our seats. It was a pleasant enough place with a professional staff and furniture that was nicer than the odd pieces scattered through our basement office. A plant in the window sill, magazines to read and a TV playing _Regis and Kelly_ at a volume just low enough not to annoy.

Then why was I still sweating? Fidgeting? Wishing we were done, even before it started.

She'd mentioned something to me about 'the heartbeat', the must-see sign of life we'd hopefully witness but until I hit that waiting room that meant about as much to me as what I'd eat for lunch or how many socks I'd have to fold on laundry day.

In short, nothing. Intellectually, I knew she was pregnant but to see first hand this new life we'd created ...

Or not see anything at all.

That thought made me shake a little. More for Scully than anything else. See, I loved _her_, because I knew her. Could touch and hold her and maybe it's the way men are wired but the abstract concept of a baby held much less sway over my concern than what this might do to Scully.

Especially what a bad outcome might do to her.

So there we sat, in her OB's office, as scared as trial defendants waiting for a verdict. I couldn't stop my knee from bouncing convulsively, but she said nothing to me, as much as that particular tic usually annoyed her. Instead, she was sitting very still, staring at her clasped hands, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She was terribly pale and there were dark rings underneath her eyes that worried me. I had a vague idea she hadn't been sleeping well -- a lot of tossing and turning moving the bed as well as waking up to find her at the kitchen coffee machine, already on her second cup.

Sitting there, waiting, made it all the worse. Waves of fear radiated from her and I was at a loss of how to help, but I knew there was only one comfort for her, a comfort I couldn't provide.

A slight twinge of resentment bit at me during this realization. I felt sidelined -- useless -- in an immature sort of way, but I couldn't help it.

She was _my_ Scully. And God, how I wanted her to stay that way.

"Scully, Dana." The nurse smiled and beckoned us to the back of the clinic.

I rose on partially numb legs and took Scully by the elbow to steady us both. After all we'd been through neither one of us were a big fan of medical procedures, but Scully gamely got up on the exam table, not paying any attention to the frightening array of mechanical devices humming and beeping all around us, covered with knobs and lights and readout displays. There was no room for me on the other side of the table, so I backed up against the far wall, to stay clear out of the way and let the sonogram machine operator do her job.

She was a very cheerful sort, too cheerful as she went through the prep. A fiddle with clothing here, a squirt of gel there, a giggly warning that there would be an internal probe if Scully wasn't as far along as we thought -- things of that sort.

It made me want to crawl through the floor in terror. But Scully just nodded and kept her eyes on the screen, where I saw nothing except blobs of black interspersed by snowy gray areas.

The radiologist was silent, as was Scully, both of them watching intently as she moved the wand over Scully's shiny abdomen, tilting and pressing as she went.

"Ah, there's the sack," said the radiologist excitedly. "Now where's our bean?"

I could see Scully's breathing just ... stop. I quickly went to her side so I could take her hand. God, please.

The radiologist peered intently at the screen. "Hmmm ... no ... not there."

Please, please, _please_. For her sake.

"Ah!" The radiologist smiled and pointed on the screen to what looked like a tiny fluttering butterfly, made of sunlight. "There we are."

Scully blew out the breath she was holding. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She couldn't take her eyes off the screen, but she squeezed my hand as she stared. "Can you believe it, Mulder?" she whispered, awed.

"I want to believe," I joked back, just as amazed, but more by its tiny size than its existence. Was that _really_ a human life? That minuscule flutter? And could it really be _ours_ -- something we created, together? Upon closer examination, I saw what might have been arms and legs, making little swimming motions through the fog of the screen, but it was hard to tell.

The radiologist became serious in her measurements then, silently viewing and clicking, taking grainy shot after grainy shot, occasionally pointing out something to Scully that she nodded at, her smile broad and bright.

From terrified to jubilant in ten point zero seconds. It was a good thing, I thought, even as another small pinch of jealousy poked at me. Stupid, I know, but in a way I wondered if I could ever do anything to make her that happy or if it even mattered any more, now that she -- we -- had this.

Stupid. Yeah, I know. But I never claimed to be perfect.

I will say the rest of the day was wonderful. The color had come back to Scully's cheeks and she was gleeful during lunch, eating everything in sight and tucking into dessert with a gusto that made me smile. She kept pointing out various things she saw in the sonogram pictures and I nodded along, even though I could make out next to nothing. A shadow here, a blob there -- as long as Scully was safe and happy, it was all good to me.

She began to talk about visiting my mother's house, to tell her the news.

I winced a little, only because visiting my mother was always a tense affair. "Do we have to today?"

"Why not?" Scully asked, between bites of her key lime pie. "I'm sure she'd like to know."

"We can call her," I offered. "Save a few hours of driving."

Scully frowned. "You don't tell your mother something like this over the phone."

"I do," I muttered.

Scully paused in her eating long enough to give me The Look.

Unfortunately, there was no defense against The Look. "All right, all right," I said, as I raised my hands in defeat. "This Saturday, early? We'll bring her some bagels. That'll put her in a good mood."

"Sounds fine." Scully nodded with finality. "And then we'll be ready to see the rest of my family."

Again, I winced. I didn't mean to, I _liked _Scully's family, mostly, but I'd been a loner in a basement for all those years for a reason. "The Lone Gunmen are very good at setting up teleconferencing, you know. It's just like being there, I swear."

The Look returned, this time with extra cranky. "Order me more pie," she demanded, as if exchange for my limbs remaining unscathed. "And tell them it's for you. I have to go to the bathroom."

I did as she said. Because there was no defense against The Look.

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The visit to my mother that weekend was oddly pleasant, with Scully's level-headed charm defusing the tension that had always bubbled between mother and wayward son with disarming ease. Mom liked Scully. If anything, she knew Scully was too good for me, which proved that I could do at least one kind of relationship right.

When we told her about the pregnancy, there were honest tears of delight in her eyes. My mother was the type of person who was thrilled by good news, having suffered through so much of the opposite kind during her sad life. "Boy or girl? Or are you going to be surprised?" she asked, more happily excited than I'd ever seen her.

"It's too early to tell. Around twenty weeks we can find out, maybe," Scully said. She glanced at me. "Are we finding out?"

I shrugged, too awed by the sight of mother's unadulterated happiness to think straight. "Whatever you think."

My mother laughed. "That's what they all say. You'll hear every version of that for the next nine months."

"I might grow to like that," Scully replied with a slight grin.

Suddenly, my mother rose from the couch. "Would you like to see Fox's baby pictures, Dana? I have an album full of them."

Oh, no. "Mom," I whined. "She doesn't want to see ..."

"I'd love to," Scully interjected, her blue eyes bright with a wicked look. "I'll make some more tea while you look."

My mother clapped her hands together. "Wonderful."

The next three hours were spent plowing through dozens of dusty photo albums showcasing hundreds of photographic tributes to my bare butt. It was a richness of embarrassments but they were delighted, oohing and aahing over each black and white monstrosity while I sat and fumed.

"You were a cute baby," Scully said when my mother left the room to go find more albums. "I hope our baby is half as cute."

I flipped through a discarded album, wincing at the too big nose sitting beneath a bald, pointy head. "Let's hope it looks like you," I replied, knowing without a doubt that Scully had been a Gerber baby from birth.

Scully just smiled.

It had been yet another good day.

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We made love that evening with Scully as joyful and passionate as ever, calming my doubts and foolish fears that once the baby arrived Scully wouldn't need me anymore. We lay together for a long time afterwards, entwined in each others' arms, content. Happiness made her even more beautiful, if that were possible and I never remembered loving her more.

All was right in our world.

Except when she got up to go to the bathroom and she suddenly called out my name in a strangled voice. When I went running in, I was horrified to see her sitting on the bathroom floor, weeping, a blood-stained piece of toilet paper in her hand.

God. Please ... please ... _please_.

No.

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to be continued in Chapter Six

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